


DeLovely's Unpleasantness

by Lux1Noctis



Category: Warcraft III, World of Warcraft
Genre: Armies Of The Dead, Forsaken, Gen, Necromancy, OC, Scourge
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-04-02
Updated: 2018-09-03
Packaged: 2018-10-13 20:11:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 8
Words: 22,662
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10520988
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lux1Noctis/pseuds/Lux1Noctis
Summary: Story of OC character Wayne DeLovely in his rise through magical schools in Lordaeron, to slavery to the forces of the Scourge, to freedom and love in his service to Lady Sylvanas Windrunner, and cheif mage for the Forsaken.





	1. Chapter 1

Chapter 1

 

A mage seeks out power, those who say anything different are lying to you. The journey is lifelong and typically never stops when the first life ends. At least that was the story in this particular case. A man whose potentional for power, then love, came to be in such force, that he would never die, (or at least stay dead) until those infinite lusts were flexed and enjoyed to their fullest extent.

Wayne DeLovely had a taste for magic since before he had taken a breath that was his own. However, being born to peasant farmers gave him little potential to develop his powers as a child. It was not until his potential was noticed, almost by chance, (or fate, as some magicians would call it) that he was given a scholarly magical education in the captial city of Lordaeron. He graduated at the top of his class, due to the fact that anyone who would happen to best him would not linger to have the ability to do it again. The circumstances of the disappearances of his classmates were very wide range, everyone seemed to know it was him, but proof and explanation were silent to help. His stark blue eyes would see no defeat. Even has a teenager, his cruelty and cunning was astounding.

Due to the kingdom granting him an education, his services went to the betterment of said kingdom. Though by contract, Wayne DeLovely had never felt loyality to anyone but himself, he cared nothing for the well being of Lordaeron. If the following ten years of his life in the service of Lordaeron could be described in positive terms, then you would find none. He hated it, he hated his colleagues, he hated the activites of the kingdom. The only enjoyment he found was the expansion and growth of his own power.

When his decade of service ended, he was 29 years old and had the ability to pursue anything, but he choose to go back to the farm that he was born on. By now his parents had been dead for years, and the squalid patch of miserable earth was in full decay. He did not seek to rebuild the farm, at least not at first, only to live in solitude and grow his powers to limitless bounds.

The tall stone watchtower in the middle of the wheat field still stands to this day, build by his own hands and a great deal of magic. The sanctuary became the perfect abode for him. Many nights on the top floor of his tower would be a testament to the skill that few had matched.

At first he had no interest in making the fields bloom, the allure of nature was seen as being weak to him. Weak yes, but also, he reasoned, it was still beautiful. After a couple of years of procrastination, he breathed life into seeds, and tilled the dirt with his own hands. His joy became long spells of fasting from rest, he would push his mortal body to extremes in the pursuit strengtheing himself. The effort was shown, the fields would always be teeming with life, especially roses, which grew around and climbed the great stone tower.

The total peace and solitude was undisturbed for seven years, until invaded by a small entourage of his old colleagues and knights of Lordaeron. Whatever their reason for coming to him would be turned down, he reasoned, due to their reckless gallop though his daffodil feild. They approached him in front of his tower, and choose not to dismount from their horses.

"So you did come back to this, eh?" said an old mage he knew, a man named Keils.

Seeing as Wayne barely looked at him, and was carrying a look on his face of contempt, the man named Keils went on,

"Prince Arthas is calling many senior serviced mages to join him," Keils said.

Wayne showed still no reaction or care. He kept his heavy hood drawn over his head. He is face is further shaded by long 

"To Northrend," Keils finished.

Wayne began talking then, "I have not heard anything of the activities of Arthas or his kingdom in years, but I know that nothing good will come about by venturing to that place."

"Who are you to call disfavor on this crusade? A man who ran to this wasteland and cared for nothing!" challenged Keils in a loud tone.

In quaint response, Wayne said calmly, "Chasing trouble that far will bring no peace here."

Keils rounded his horse quickly and charged away, signaling the others to follow. Wayne stood and watched them ride off, somewhat pleased that they were not making another trail though his daffodils.

It was only a week later that he became seriously ill. A crippling pain in his chest and abdomen that felt like razors flying around and bouncing off edges under his skin. Any healing that his magic might be able to do would be impossible, as the disease felt like it was scrambling his brain and all his thoughts. He hit the stone floor of his tower on a cold night and remembered nothing for a long, long time.

 

XxXxX

 

When Wayne DeLovely began to feel himself gain consciousness again, his eyes were open, and he turned to look at hundreds of figures around him. In a long horizontal row, extending to the left and right of him, stood horrific skeletal human figures, though with some flesh still attached. Behind him stood a mass conglomeration of shadow apparitians, monsters, ghouls and more human skeletal exposed figures. Feeling something climb on his feet, Wayne looked down to see dozens of rats feeding on the mottled corpses that everyone was standing on. The night sky above floated still without clouds.

A booming voice rang out that made everyone shudder. Wayne looked frantically to see where the voice was coming from, but it came from no particular direction, it was inside his mind. The voice spoke in cruel undertones for a long time before it seemed to be talking directly to him. Telling him he was special, telling him that he had a great new purpose, telling him that he would be granted power eternal. All of his thoughts and feelings shifted to one single word-obey.

In front of the line, in which Wayne was a part, stood a multitude of shadowy horses, each with a dark figured man staring out at them. One of them strode forward slowly on his horse. Around the legs of the horse swarmed small flesh exposed creatures, hopping around on dis-jointed limbs. On each of them was attached several large grey satchels. Though the night was pitch black, Wayne's eyes could see everything with startling clarity.

The man on the horse would move in front of a member of the line, reach down to pick up a satchel, it would begin to glow a hazy green before handing it to the one he was in front of. The man was coming in from the right and before long, stood directly in front of Wayne. For the first time Wayne looked at the man in the face, and thought how familiar he looked, though his mind was running in circles, and he could barely remember his own name. The pale man with long white hair reached down for a satchel, Wayne saw him whisper words to fuse the bag with power and make it glow brightly. Wayne reached out his arm, an action that seemed to completly new to him, and wrapped his fingers around it, and brought the satchel to his chest.

When at last the man had finished this process, and everyone in the line stood all clutching onto an identical bag. The man turned and rode off to the east, followed by many of his mounted soldiers. Wayne stood there, unsure of what to do, until the same voice echoed inside his head. The voice told him to open the bag, and use the objects therein.

All along the row, each one opened the satchel at nearly the same time. Inside was: a long sharp knife-covered in runes, books of spell, a bone wand, and a robe with a headdress, both adorned with varies types of bones. Slowly, they all put it on, Wayne was feeling extremely out of sorts, as though in between a dimension. His mind could never focus, or form a truly independant thought, and his body was recieving a constant dull pain.

If you would have told him at this time that he was dead, he would not have believed you. If you would have told him that he had spent the last three weeks running about like a mindless beast, attacking anything that moved, well, he would not have believed that either. And to purpose that he was now a necromancer in a vast army of undead slaves, well he would have doubted you still.

However no doubts were left about his purpose once his robes and headdress were on. The voice rang triumphantly as he weaved the bone wand and whispered the incantation that the voice was saying. Within moments the corpses that were all around began to slowly rise. Wayne felt fulfilled in these moments, it felt so right and perfect in his mind to do this. They rose and rose until everything, man and beast, all stood alive again.

Lightning began flashing as a heavy rain began to pour. The voice commanded them to move, and with as much haste as possible, they followed the path of the mounted soldiers.

 

XxXxX

 

The march to Quel'Thalas was a long one, but it was the frequent stops and roadside attractions which truly led to the time delay. As every village and every home was visted by the Scourge. The new successor to the throne of Lordaeron needed his time spent this way in order to boast recruitment for this next campaign. By doing this he was pleased, the Lich King was pleased, the armies of the Scourge seemed pleased. And the people of Lordaeron? Well, they got the short end of the stick.

Wayne spent this time well in the flexing of his new found powers. Necromancers' were in very high demand for the Scourge. Without them constantly raising the fallen to fight, the armies of the Scourge could be broken. Of course not just anyone could become a necromancer, either in life or death. It took years of magical study and training before one could imagine the powers that one must tap into. Unluckly for Wayne, his previous life afforded him great capacity for expansion in the new one.

On one such recruitment outing, Wayne, five other necromancers' and a vast contingent of the Scourge came into the village of Theres. As they all stood in the village square, looking at the empty, lifeless scene around them, they knew that not everyone had left. By now of course, the word of the horror that was the Scourge had spread to every corner of the kingdom. Many homes and towns had already evacuated. But always there are some who remain.

Their orders were clear, to turn them after they had died as quickly as possible, and to leave nothing left standing. Wayne knew somewhere in his own mind that this was to prevent the major functions of the brain, muscles and nerves from being too badly damaged. In many a case, would be Scourge were carried and dragged to the feet of a necromancer, still fully alive. A signal was given by a horseman that leads them to spread out, and into homes, searching for anything alive. The noise in the village grew thunderous as ghouls and skeletal soldiers ripped through homes, howling and barking in rage.

Wayne strode forward and into a home whose door was only recently unhinged and thrown off into the street. Already behind him were cries and screams of humans being carried to the necromancers' who remained standing in the square. As a similar sound enveloped all around him, the shrieks and screams of those who had been found. Apparently the village was still very populated.

Inside the home that Wayne had ventured into, several ghouls were amusing themselves by ripping apart furniture, cabinets and everything else. It almost seemed necessary for someone more capable to do a final lookthrough. Ghouls and decay minded soldiers were shown to be poor observers of key hiding places. Though this time it was not the frightened faces of peasants that caught Wayne's full attention, it was a mirror. A tall cracked mirror, at least six feet tall.

Wayne stared into the mirror desperately, it must be his reflection that he was looking at, but his mind could not wrap itself around the concept. His brain was sending out so many distorted signals that the idea of identity was nearly abolished. He moved to within an inch of the mirror's surface and thought, somewhere in the back of his mind, that he had once had color in his eyes. He lifted a hand to touch them, so to know for sure that it was truly himself that he was looking at. There was no longer any color in the iris, only cloudy, pale white appeared at the window of his soul.

He ran his fingers down the rest of his face. On both sides his cheeks were open and exposed, one could see his rotting tounge and gums without his mouth being open. His long dark hair remained, though the bone headdress kept the tangled mane well contained.

A ghoul that was ripping up the floor nearby lifted a particularly long board which ran under the feet of the mirror. Within two seconds, it wavered to the left and fell, shattering into a thousand peices. Wayne continued to stand there, not feeling anger or sadness. In truth he felt nothing at all, he was not capable.

Turning slowly, Wayne walked out of the house the same way from which he came, with nothing in his mind. The noise had died down quite a bit as more Scourge returned to the square. Newly christened members weakly stood on top of a thin layer of their combined, still fresh blood. When it appeared that all of the convoy had returned, they set off with haste north towards Quel'Thalas once again. In their wake, the small village of Theres stood utterly destroyed and abandoned after only a few minutes visit.


	2. Chapter 2

The crossing into the High Elf kingdom happened easily enough, at first. The 'Abominations' were first created during this time. Rather mindless and poor sighted creatures, but incredibly strong, and able to withstand a lot of abuse. This power to fuse together several bodies into a new monstrosity was given as a special present to the most capable necromancers. Wayne being high on the list for the mental voice's praises.

Our coming to Quel'Thalas came as no suprise, but the lack of inital resistence seemed odd to the more intelligent Scourge. As the forests became defiled under spreading blight and the trees were being felled under the rampaging meatwagons, no Elves were seen. Unlike the Scourge, the Elves employed tactics early.

Wayne marched near the front of a unit of ghouls. His line of sight was able to see a long horizontal row of mounted soldiers, along with the man with long white hair. Their step and pace remained steady as the sun lifted over the tops of the trees. The sounds of the birds' song put a strain on their dimished hearing.

It was not until a woman's voice rang out which caused the mounted soldiers to halt, that Wayne opened his eyes to pay attention. The voice spoke clearly, strongly and full of rage. But for all the sentiments of the feminate voice gave, Wayne could not hear, his brainwaves began drilling an immeasurable pain which flowed throughout his head. He smashed his hands to his cranial temple as the familar voice screamed frantically of the notions of killing and death. The desire to tear out the beating heart of every living thing he came across was an unbearable need. A bottomless pit that could never be satisfied.

The woman's voice was quickly matched by the horseman with the long white hair. Wayne finally located the source of feminate sound, booming in the distance of a high bluff. His long distance eyesight was terrible, especially with the Elven woman's back to the sun. But he could clearly see a long row of Elves flocking to her left and right side.

Talking was cheap in this situation, and a reprieve as the voice and blurred thoughts prevented him from hearing anything clearly. A cold laugh echoed from the white haired horseman as he raised a long icy blade and signaled forward. The ground shook with intensity as the undead tore through the forest. Enchanted Elven arrows already recking havoc throughout their ranks.

Wayne was compelled forward in the charge, however, his speed was lacking compared to many other beasts and ghouls. Nevertheless, he ran towards them as quickly as he could, not wishing to die, not even thinking about dying, only wishing to kill and fill the need. The targeting by the Elves was very accurate, as many were hit in vital areas, and almost none of their arrows touched the ground without something attached to it. Again, Wayne was struck by the resilence of the Abominations, as one in front of him slowly struggled forward, grunting and roaring, with too many arrows to count scattered about its body.

The arrow barrage soon ended as the Elves were nearly reached, as they turned and retreated back into the rising sun. Wayne stopped and stood, extremely dissapointed at not having a chance to kill. Then he moved forward to the dying Abomination who now supported itself on its hands and knees, wincing and grunting in extreme pain. Red blood, green goo and yellow pus all eminating from the countless arrows protruding outwards. As the Abomination slowly tilted its head upwards to look at him, Wayne wordlessly unsheathed his enchanted dagger and drove it deep into the brain of the creature. Pulling it out only moments after its full force shook the ground with its collapse. Then Wayne began working the incantation to raise it again, of course with the assistance of the fallen Scourge all around him. The Abomination arose rejuvenated, and sauntered off with seemingly no memory of what had happened.

All throughout those early morning hours, Wayne and many other necromancers worked raising all of the fallen Scourge. Each rose again, cursed and mindless, to stream forward to the frontlines. Those who were too fractured and damaged to be effective were stacked into piles to form new Abominations. Until all that remained of the field of death caused by the Elven barrage was a few bones and a spreading blight.

 

XxXxX

 

Wayne DeLovely walked nimbly through the forest. The noise of battle and the silence of death were heard all around him. The heat of the high sun was beginning to become a strain on his wasting flesh, therefore he would try to stay in the shade of the large foliage trees.

He never stopped, always walking forward in search of bodies. Either Elf or Scourge, did not really matter to him, an undead slave soldier is an undead slave soldier no matter what origins happened to be previous. The Scourge was not much for discrimination. Though so far he had not come across an Elf body that was capable of proper resurrection, they had all been too badly mangled and eaten. Wayne had a strange desire in him to know an Elf, but he could not understand his thoughts as to why. He wanted so badly to kill one, then to understand it after it became undead.

During this walk he rarely came across anything else that was already alive, it was only other Scourge necromancers. Only the wordless, thoughtless moment of eye contact was enough to say that they needed to spread out and cover more ground. Very few necromancers were at the front, they were far too valuable to be set up as easy targets. Wayne turned his back on the necromancer he happened to come across and headed west.

It was in the following moments after this change of direction that Wayne should have died, or at least died again. As a tall solitary Elf burst out from the brush and darted directly at him, a long curved sword bent back to sweep of his head. What happened in the next moment suprised Wayne more than the charging Elf. In one quick movement, Wayne lifted and extended his left hand in a gesture of defense, but to the Elf, whose sword just began moving with the momentum of his swing, twisted backwards in shock and pain. The tall Elf tried to rise but could only sit on his knees as he clutched onto his lifeless arm and screamed loudly in pain, his sword lay on the ground inches away from his broken fingers.

Wayne stared down at him, unsure of what had happened. If his face was able to show the expression of shock, then inevitability it would have. The answer came to him as nearly everything else did now, through the voice in his mind. Then it dawned to him simply enough, it was bone magic. The ability of a highly skilled necromancer to affect and control the bones of any creature that has them.

Finally feeling engrossed and pleased with his ability, he next sought out his need to kill. The Elf sat there defenseless, his eyes remained tightly closed as he screamed and cursed in a language that Wayne had once known. Small amounts of red blood escaped from different areas where the bone shot through the skin. The areas extending from his fingertips up towards his right collarbone. The shrill unabated screams wearing down the nerves still left in Wayne.

In a swift movement, Wayne stabbed his cursed knife through the back of his neck, the tip protruding out of the front. The noise ceased but the Elf did not die. Wayne pulled out his blade and the Elf fell foward, bleeding heavily and gasping for breath. The blood from his neck stained the ground for a wide distance before his frantic movements came to a halt. Satisfaction was Wayne's pet in those moments, as he loomed over the body of a dead enemy.

The motions of his wand and the incantations from his voice were not quite the same this time. For this time they were done with a level of joy that made even the voice in his mind joyous. Slowly, the Elf rose to his feet, but oddly did not run off towards the direction of the front, he only stood still and stared directly at Wayne. The Elf had a perplexed, painful look on his grayed face, as well as a coat of anger, as he bent down to pick up his sword with his newly repaired arm. Wayne was not able to feel uneasy or threatened, so the mutual staring contest went on for quite some time.

Eventually Wayne pointed his bony fingers into the distance where all the other newly risen Scourge would run to. But the Elf would not move, he would only stare into his pale eyes, a visible bloodly hole in his throat, his sword held firmly in his hand, pointed downwards. Wayne felt himself compelled onwards, he turned his back to go on, the Elf followed him. Wayne would stop and the Elf would stop, Wayne would move and the Elf would move.

The more that Wayne would try to understand, the less discernable his thoughts would become. He simply grew accustomed to the light footsteps happening behind him. The further ahead that Wayne progressed, the more bodies he would come across. Vast areas of dead Scouge thickly covered in arrows.

A short distance away, a tumultuous sound was building. Wayne was unaffected as the noise grew and grew. He worked on rising the dead, and was quickly accompanied by several necromancers.

 

BOOOOM!

 

The sound was so incredibly jarring that everything rushed forward towards the source. Within moments Wayne came into a clearing in which a great gateway stood. The opening was utterly destroyed as limitless numbers of Scourge were rushing through onto the Elven defenders, who were beginning to break and run for their lives. All around the area lay massive piles of dead Scourge.

Wayne held back and watched the wave of ghouls swarm the remaining Elven positions. Their panic and courage fused together to hold onto their positions till the end. Within minutes the end had come for them, as there were no living Elves within Wayne's line of sight. It was no suprise to find fallen necromancers in the midst of other corpses. They could be raised easily as others, though their powers would normally fluctuate after death. As the saying goes, it is different for everybody.

This time many more hours were spent re-forming units. Only a few hours of daylight remained as all moved through the shattered gate. The Elf behind him remained steadly to his pace as Wayne raised the dead strewn across the forward path. And for the first time in either of his lives, Wayne felt a strange intagible affinity for company.

 

XxXxX

 

Oh woe be the plight of the cursed dead

Those who may never find no rest

 

The rebirth of all the bodies along the road went quickly. Help came from all necromancers who linked back to the gate. Understandably there were no more bodies on the conquered side of the first gate left it seemed. Speed also came as necromantic abilities were fostered in resurrected Elven mages. The fierce warriors on horseback would deliver the satchel to the most deserving. Each one would expressionlessly put it on, and began their work.

Soon Wayne and the others reached a wide river that blocked their path. The waters were tainted with a deep shade of red, many bodies also floating along with the quickly moving current. For the most part, Wayne could not reach those who floated to revive them, it was only the few that were washed onto the bank that could be brought back to serve the Scourge. With seemingly no direction to go, Wayne followed all of the others to the north, walking alongside the bloody river. Every so often, Wayne would swivel his head to peer back at the Elf that continued to follow him, who walked only a few steps behind.

After perhaps an hour of walking in the dull afternoon sun, Wayne saw with his own eyes a distant bridge that spanned the river. All of the undead gathered and was running across into the trees in one long column. Now the need for haste returned to the Scourge as Wayne and all the rest rushed onward into the dense forest. A long run in the quickly setting sun brought him to a halt in the ever increasing size of the Scourge formation. All along the run no Elves were seen, and no bodies were found.

Out of a strange feeling of curiousity, Wayne began parting through the line of the dead minions to the front, the Elf moving consistently with him. It took Wayne several minutes of walking and pushing past monsters to see the front. Peering over heads and limbs, he saw a large gate, very similar to the first. Watchtowers on both sides were heavily damaged, and were still being hit by spells and arrows aimed by various types of Scourge units. Directly in front of the gate stood a dozen horsemen, always in the middle sat the man with long white hair.

It was only a few minutes of waiting before a small group of Elves approached from the right. Through a great effort of the booming mental voice, the Scourge were restrained from attacking them. The tall Elf walking in front, laden in dark clothing, bowed deeply in front of the white haired horseman. He then reached into his robes and pulled out a glowing circular object, and extended his arms outwards, his head still pointing down. A small creature that hopped around the horse's legs went forward slowly towards the Elf, its small frame of broken bones not allowing it to repeat the same movements twice. It timidly took it from the Elf's hands and went back to a great spiral platform on the ground behind the row of horsemen.

The sun was now low enough for a deep red and orange to be cast on everything. Wayne turned around again to see the same Elf still staring directly into his eyes in a soul-less manner. Turning his attention back towards the creature on the platform now, Wayne saw it lift the glowing object high over its head, before slamming it down hard onto the indented opening on the ground. The gateway glowed brightly before opening its door widely. A great rush through the gate began, with all of the horsemen leading the charge.


	3. Chapter 3

The Scouge marched and marched, into the dying sun they moved and for the destruction of all life they yearned. One great unstoppable line now, a line of pure death going directly towards the walls of Silvermoon. Any Elves that showed themselves to be brave enough to challenge this advance were slaughtered by various outrunners. Yet still the Scourge did not disorganize, its purpose and orders were clear and no true devation of direction was made.

Wayne kept his position near the front despite his failing speed next to many others. The Elf of course, no matter how quick he was capable of being, always stayed in step behind. New meatwagons were now being pulled by the dozens through the middle of the column, parting the undead like waves on both sides. The speed with which the wagons moved was incrediable, as it was pulled by many horses that most likely belonged to the Elves, during their first life, that is. It was a small wonder that the machines, and in particular the wheels, did not fall apart under the fury of wind resistence and the unevenness of the ground.

In the great light of the rising moon, the walls of the great city came into sight. The concept of halting to gather more strength for an assault of the city was never in the mind of any of the Scourge. Frantic sounds of alarm were heard all throughout Silvermoon as very few Elves were seen on the top of the ramparts. It was obvious to the more intelligent Scourge that the city was suprised and unprepared, but most of all it was vulnerable.

Resistance from the tops of the wall was quickly proven to be useless, as the undead surged forward. Though the walls were high and the gates strong with enchantments, the assault carried on. Many ghouls with still decent bodies began to climb the high walls, but many could not keep a hold on the surface. All of the meatwagons lined up and began hurling many types of material onto and over the walls. The most harmful being diseased bodies meant to spread the plauge. Also a small horde of Abominations formed around the front gate and began flailing away at the doors.

At first it appeared to be useless, that the defense was too strong as a structure to be broken by mindless force. But then, small cracks began to form, then expand ever so slowly. Nearly one hundred ghouls were inside the city, running about like mad and attacking anything that moved. A precise shot from a meatwagon towards the low point of the outer wall aligned with the cracks and caused a great portion of the wall to collapse and fall crashing back into the city.

Instantly the Scourge rushed forward through the rubble and spread throughout the city. Wayne went forward with all the others, seeking the insatiable lust for death that had grown to be his only addiction. Though at the breech there were no more living Elves to be seen. Again a sinking feeling came to him that he would be outclassed by the more mindless and fierce units of the Scourge. No matter how useless they were at everything else, they were nonetheless more apt to fulfill their needs than him.

It was not long before chokepoints became effective enough to contain the Scourge within certain areas of the city. Many were very visible as being high arcane towers that dotted the entire city, each with mages and various defenders on the highest level. Yet others were more easily overcome, as those above enchanted gates to other quarters of the city.

The Elven mages did exceedingly well with organizing their defense all throughout the city that fateful night. But with the forces of death pounding away at them and no hope of escape from their towers, then it was only a matter of time that their lives could be kept. First it was arrows and spells cast from all sides coming at their high location, but nearly all were filtered by a defensive barrier. Then it was ghouls and Abominations that were lucky enough to reach the door at the tower base and began to hack away at it, but the Elf gate magic was too strong to be broken that easily. Lastly and more dire came the roving meatwagons to hurl great sized stone and debris which would crumble many towers that night.

Wayne went into various homes as he had in Lordaeron, searching for hiding, frightened people. Inside all of the households, the scene looked the same, lifeless disarray of ransacked possessions. But always, always, there were bound to be a few hiding. And of course the Elf was always behind him, always staring.

Try as he might there were no survivors to be found in the homes Wayne searched. It seemed now that the city was not as unprepared as was first imagined. Wayne stopped to look out of the window of a home, outside in the street were five meatwagons firing at a heavily guarded tower. The mages of the tower were raining down fire onto the catapults, but it was not enough to prevent their final volley that smashed into the middle and broke the tower in half. A screeching cry from the defenders resounded before the impact of the structure colliding with the ground overshadowed the sounds of their screams.

Moving into the street were the carts burned, Wayne could see the doors of the felled tower open. Nearly a dozen Elven rangers rushed out of the door with swords drawn, and upon seeing Wayne in his bone garb, rushed towards him. 'Finally,' Wayne thought, as he raised his wand upwards. This again became a void for his addiction, as it was the Elf behind him that moved in front of Wayne for the first time. The undead Elf ran forwards with his sword clutched tightly in both hands, bellowing a deep rage.

Stupified, Wayne lowered his wand and watched the Elf fiercely defend him. Screaming with a sense of passion and desparation, the Elf cut through the attackers. His movements were quick and agile, his swing powerful enough to cut through the blades that were raised in defence. One remained further back with an arrow in place, as quickly as the others fell, the arrow was released. The shot was not meant for the now blood stained Elf, instead it was for Wayne, as it pierced through his chest.

The rageful, blood soaked Elf bellowed a louder pitch of anger and injustice as he bent down to pick up a discarded sword. The archer had no time to react as the sword was hurled into his own chest, he dropped to his knees and died instantly. Wayne also fell to his knees, but did not die, nor did he feel any pain, his heart had stopped beating long ago.

The Elf stood over him now as Wayne felt so weak, so drained of energy. With his hand shaking, Wayne took hold of the arrow and jerked it out of his body. There was no blood, only bits of rotted flesh on the arrow. Kneeling next to him was the Elf, Wayne put a hand on his shoulder and they rose to their feet together. The night was nearly half over and there would surely be more hell to unleash on this wicked, wicked world.

 

XxXxX

 

Trails of fire began to burn through parts of the city. Many of the fires were created and kept burning due to the Elves. They understood now that they and the Scourge stood on equal ground when it came to death by fire, as well as making it nearly impossible to resurrect ashes. The Elves kept the flames fed in the attempt to hold off the Scourge as long as possible. But the restless Scourge would not be stopped by any means.

Wayne and many other Necromancers worked quickly raising the dead and freshly killed Elves as the battle ensared around them. The deeper into the city they progressed, the more Necromancers would be found dead, or disappeared from where they recently were. Those who could notice would see Elves on the tops of far off buildings or in secret darkened areas, specifically hunting for Necromancers. For a few of those early morning hours, they were very successful in their hunt. Yet the command of the Scourge was not as mindless as its minions, heavily detailed defenses were set up to encapsulate the lessening group of vital Necromancers.

It quickly became impossible for the sniping Elves to take a clear shot, or in many cases, even see their target between the thick mass of undead. In the meantime, the meatwagons were quickly making new routes through the city. Great crashing sounds were heard as more and more of the catapults appeared, hurling everything into the distance. They would continue to appear no matter how many were disabled and burned to cinders.

Slowly, the sky began to lighten as the sun rose to give competition to the flames for the illumination of the city. The amount of fighting was less and less, but more fierce as the Scourge now controlled more than half of Silvermoon. Wayne and the other Necromancers marched on, surrounded by many Abominations.

A peircing sound shot through the air, then the mental voice spoke its own words of where to go. The whole city seemed to shake at its foundations as all the inhabitants rushed towards the same spot. Wayne and those around him reached the destination faster than many others, and thus was able to clearly see the spectacle. In front of all the Scourge was the white haired man, flanked with his many sinister horsemen. They all trotted past a shattered gateway.

In front of them stood an extremely tall fountain, a great pale pink aura covered the distance, and inside perhaps fourty Elves, many were Mages, stood and were weaving spells. Hundreds upon hundreds more Scourge were coming into the area behind Wayne. The sun was now just high enough to pester the Scourge with its nearly blinding light. After a few moments of silence, three ghouls rushed forward towards the fountain, not a move was made by either side to stop them as they disintegrated into nothing upon touching the pale pink barrier.

A large Elf towards the center moved forward to the edge of the barrier and bellowed.

"You have come far enough Arthas, you will not destroy our Sunwell!"

Wayne's mind scrambled as he heard the name Arthas, he tried desperately to remember the origins of the name, but his mind would give no answers.

The white haired man laughed coldly and said.

"You and your men offer their servitude to me Sunstrider, and I will grant you all a painless death."

"This barrier will never break Arthas," said the Elf.

"We shall see," replied the man named Arthas.

He reached towards his left side and pulled out a fearsome icy sword, then with all his might, hurled it like a spear towards the Elf behind the forcefield.

The tip of the blade penetrated a few inches before it stopped, sending bolts of electricity away from the tip. Then quickly shot back towards the Scourge crowd, maiming many Abominations. The man named Arthas shook with rage and shouted curses at the Elves. Behind the veil the Elves were confident, most were locked in a circle, focused in concentration and attunement to keep the spell working.

In a moments notice Wayne had a premonition of what he must do. He strode forward through the undead until he stood at the side of the horseman named Arthas, the Elf of course still a few steps behind. He flashed a distasteful look at Wayne, but the look contained more puzzlement and suprise than anger. Wayne extended his left hand and focused on the most elaborately dressed Mage in the center. The Mage's body shook and he let out a scream before he was pulled forth, out of the barrier and clumsily rolled to Wayne's feet. The ghouls all around quickly jumped on his screaming figure and tore him to shreds, exposing those strong bones.

Cries of panic erupted from the Elves as the barrier began to flash and falter. The concentration element was gone with their head Mage as the Scourge ran up the tiered levels of the fountain. The Elves had no time to defend themselves as the Scourge engulfed and surrounded them at all sides. Wayne looked over to his left and saw the man named Arthas looking down at him.

"I doubt if you can understand anything that I am saying," he said in a deep cold voice. "But if I had a dozen men like you, I could conquer the world."

 

XxXxX

 

The man named Arthas stood on the top tier at the fountain's edge. In his right hand he held a large brass urn outwards, as one would hold a lantern. With the Scourge calm and stilled everywhere, there being no noise anywhere, the man hurled the urn high and into the top pool of the fountain. All the undead watched with unacknowledged amazement.

Instantly the water that overflowed into the lower pools began to blacken and smoke. A great apparition took shape and extended higher and higher towards the sky. The smoke swelled higher to reveal a thin Lich who floated slightly above the surface of the water. From it, black smoke and great power emanated.

The Lich and the horseman began talking, though Wayne could hear, he could not understand the language. The talking went on for several minutes before the man rode off, several more horsemen following. Standing still on the top of the fountain, the Lich spoke as a new voice in Wayne's mind, and into the minds of all other Scourge slaves. The voice spoke to cleanse the city.

Quickly the Scourge scrambled and rushed about, overturning everything in search of anything left alive. Wayne held his wand tightly, knowing the massive amount of dead that would have to be raised. Necromancers began to file into the area around the fountain and begin their work.

It was a shame truly, the bodies of the King and the most powerful Elven Mages were around the fountain. Yet in the fury of the Scourge's storming of the breeched defense, no bodies were in resurrectable form. Nothing but various body parts and still spreading pools of blood remained. The Necromancers worked quickly to pile the parts and form Abominations.

Throughout the rest of the city, the procedure was the same as in Lordaeron. The Scourge was apt to contain prisoners and take them to Necromancers while they were still alive, that is, if they could restrain from making the kill. Wayne kept busy as hundreds of dead were given terrible new life through his hands. Within hours the entire city of SIlvermoon was ripped apart. All of the inhabitants were now part of the Scourge.

The sun was sinking low when all of the horsemen returned, next to them rode a convoy of living Elves. Many of which Wayne could remember as appearing at the second gate. The Scourge held back as they rode slowly through the city. In the far distance, Wayne could see the Elves depart from the other horsemen and go up the palace staircase on foot.

All of the dead stood about in the city, having no new direction of what to do. The booming voice came back as the man named Arthas rode through the crowd. Marching orders once again as the Scourge ran after the horsemen with a newfound vigor and an army that would have no parallel.


	4. Chapter 4

The vast armies of the Scourge now set upon a small group of demonic worshipping Orcs known as the Blackrock Clan. More than a few hundred Orcs struggled against the Scourge onslaught, not enough to hold their lines for more than a few minutes. The tactics of the Scourge had become even more fearsome and suicidal during battle. Losses were irrelevant, the undead would wade through piles of corpses to reach their target everytime. Often, those demonically fueled Orcs who resisted were simply worn down to the point of exhaustion.

Yet the Orcs fought bravely, all those who had assembled to fight would be dead by the hour's end. Their survivors were pursued, but many managed to escape through the mountain passes. Wayne was too deep in the safety of the Scourge ranks to be able to satisfy his urge for killing. But when the end of the fighting came, he was thrust forward to raise the fallen.

It seemed as if a millenium had passed since Wayne had seen Orcs, as somewhere deep down in his mind, vague memories came back to him. But just as quickly as they came, they became blurred and faded in his mind's eye. With the Elf always following behind, Wayne and the other Necromancers gave life to the first Scourge Orcs. They arose like all the others, coarse, spiteful, and obedient. That day many more Abominations were created, due to the fact that the Orc's heavy blows would reduce many undead to nothing more than fragments.

Many Necromancers, including Wayne worked within sight of a large portal gateway, where the Lich talked to a fearsome demon. The white haired man named Arthas stood close-by, looking agitated. Once again the Scourge was bolstered by some of the more capable Orc warlocks, who were soon blessed to become Scourge Necromancers.

Soon after the conversation through the portal ended, all the dead stood by, waiting for orders. Quickly and without delay the Scourge set off through the mountain passes to the enchanted city of Dalaran. Behind the Scourge armies, another source of life lay extinguished in their wake.

The great Mages of Dalaran stood firm and ready. Many of the population had already left, yet all of the Kirin Tor remained to protect their city. The Kirin Tor Leader, Archmage Antonidas stood at the gates of the city as the Scourge poured over the hills towards him. Dalaran would be by far the most prepared obstacle that the Scourge had yet come across. In truth, Antonidas was not as worried as he should have been.

As nightfall came the ranks of the Scourge parted outside the perimeter of the city and many horsemen rushed forward towards the ancient Wizard. Few words were exchanged before the man Arthas tried to strike at him, the old man on his horse retreated and the entire city began to emit a strange glow. Frustrated by the main gate that they left open, almost as if to mock him, the horsemen rode back to the encampment of living humans known as the Cult of the Damned. After a few moments of forceful persuasion by the horseman Arthas, several living humans bowed to the ground as he rode off. The nimble humans covered themselves in black and equipped several small knives in the folds of their clothes before venturing off in many directions.

The night was in full swing as panic erupted in Dalaran. Cries came as a great amount of the glow that kept the Scourge at bay faded. All of the horsemen charged into the city, followed by thousands of undead minions. Wayne and his companion Elf leaped over the bodies of the dead on their speedy charge through the city corridors. The main fire was coming from high towers that were similar to those in Quel 'Thalas. It was easy enough to bypass them as the meatwagons came into the city to clear their defenses.

Many of the Kirin Tor had quickly made it to the only safe district left within the city. With the safety of their defensive spells against the undead, they sent countless elementals out to fight the Scourge. Wayne stayed in an area of relative safety in the mass of undead that filled the city. He shuffled forward through the dead again, eager to reach the front.

However it was the voice who shouted appeals to his nearly dead survival instinct that kept him back. As all around the frontlines, massive volleys of spells were exchanged on the glowing borderline. The spells were proven far more ineffective than the living Cult of the Damned members, who disquised themselves as Kirin Tor in order to sneak through the side defenses and to the spellweaving Mage. As the glow quickly faded out, the Scourge swept down on the contingent of Mages. Arthas himself dealing the killing blow to many of the Kirin Tor elite.

Yet outside the city a mass of Kirin Tor and fragments of many other groups gathered together for an assault to retake Dalaran. The Lich and all of the horsemen seemed unperturbed as the Scourge gathered together at the center of the city with the Lich commanding the altar. The Necromancers quickly raised the powerful Kirin Tor Mages to life in their new servitude before joining the rest of the Scourge. Together they locked into formations and waited for the coming assault.

 

XxXxX

 

The powerful armies of the Kirin Tor with their combined factions of various fighting groups were bled white in the districts of Dalaran. Their unrelenting assault towards the city center became bogged down in mountains of corpses and rivers of blood. Scourge forces were so thickly amassed within the city that a million soldiers of the highest quaility could not have cut threw them all. Yet for all the Kirin Tor's unrealistic hopes, they continued onwards. Despite the ever increasing body count, they fought on and fought bravely in the attempt to retake their lost city.

Wayne and his companion Elf stood on the ledge of a high tower near the city square that overlooked the entirety of Dalaran. With no empathy that was recognizable, they stood and watched the human's hopeless struggle that choked the city streets. Before long several more Necromancers joined them on the tower ledge to watch. Their relative safety was one of the greatest assets to the Scourge. Besides, in fighting as confined and attritional as this, the Necromancers would have no shelter.

On the other side of the tower's sights, a summoning ritual was taking place. Clearly Wayne could see the Lich commanding the procedure, it stood chanting in a ring of flames, the man Arthas and all of his knights stood around as black magic filled the air. In the far distance from the Lich, something inside Wayne was shaken and stirred by some unknown force. It was in the distance that he first saw a spectral woman, she stared fixedly at the ground, her face was downcast with sorrow. Around her floated many others like her, but they were not nearly the same in Wayne's eyes. He stood on the ledge and stared at her for a long time, his brain contantly giving off waves of blurring static and confusion.

As the sun began to rise, the area around the square where the summoning was taking place began to darken. The power flowed at such a fervent pitch that those Kirin Tor still outside the city could feel it. In the veiled darkness the form of a great demon began to slowly reveal itself. Wayne took his eyes off the banshee to watch the situation unfold. Within minutes its full form suddenly dispersed the darkness as it towered over the square. At this moment the attacking Kirin Tor within the city began to break and run for their lives. They were pursued mercilessly by the Scourge as they hurried to evacuate the city.

The demon identified itself as Archimonde as it spoke to the Lich in a deep dark voice. The rest of the conversation was not listened to by Wayne and the other Necromancers as the voice commanded them to the streets of Dalaran to raise the fallen. They worked quickly as the Scourge began to leave the city, in such haste, that the call for the expulsion of the Necromancers came before the work was complete.

Wayne was among the last of the undead to walk out of the city gates. The Kirin Tor had by now all disappeared from the area, only their encampments, possessions and ressurected dead remained in their wake. In the long trek through the wilderness that followed, the only sounds that the Scourge heard were of destruction.

 

XxXxX

 

The Scourge was led back to its birthplace in Lordaeron. There the undead slaves spread their massive numbers, that now counted for many thousands, across the deadened land. Yet for all its dispersion, the Scourge stayed within the kingdom, the control over them was still very strong. For now it appeared the plan was to keep them contained here.

Wayne DeLovely and his companion Elf walked with many other Necromancers into the Tirisfal Glades, where he would stay for many more months. Nearly the entirety of Lordaeron was now devoid of life, only scattered villages and the members of the Scarlet Crusade remained. They dwelled in secret places, and rarely left to make hit and run attacks on small isolated units of undead. Bravery was nonsense when the cost vastly outweighted the benefit, so their efforts remained small. As the undead returned, the man Arthas and many of his horsemen were seen riding away towards the west, no other Scourge seemed to follow them.

In an old crypt near the capital city, Wayne, the Elf and some Necromancers would stay. Locked in the underground vault with pitch blackness all around, unable to rest, unable to sleep. The scurring rats and spiders being the only movement and sound as the powerful Scourge Necromancers layed still, utterly dead and oblivious to the world around them.

It would be impossible for Wayne to determine how much time he had spent down there, being as he was completely thoughtless. But a moment came, and when it did, he began to understand. In the top of his mind, he began to think again. His eyes turned to look at his surroundings for what felt like the first time. Then he thought to examine his hand and was able to lift it up and stare down at it in a profound new state of mind.

Some of the Necromancers around him began to do similar things. One or two began to move their jaws in an attempt to speak, but could not make any sound come out. Wayne tried to speak, but at first it seemed the hardest thing to do was to think of words to say. He fluttered his jaw and tried to make his lungs and vocal cords awaken. At length he said one word in a low hoarse tone.

"Suffering," Wayne said.

The Necromancers that seemed to understand him nodded for a long time. Wayne had a great number of emotions rush out at once. He felt the anger, sadness, pain, bitterness, but most of all, confusion. The total situation was still very unclear to him. It was as though he was in the beginning stages of waking up from a long vivid nightmare, then trying to wrap your mind around the reality of the nightmare. His brain was still not in full control as he could not think as he would like, and could still hear the same voice in his head, though now it was much more distant sounding.

All stayed within the crypt, trying to think more before doing anything else. Perhaps days or even weeks past, and every so often, a part of Wayne's body and mind would be loosened to be able to move with his own free will. Soon his memories would return, those of being living and dead. He placed Arthas as the prince of Lordaeron, and of the convoy sent to recruit him back into his service. Strangely enough, Wayne felt the urge to laugh at the irony of the fact that Arthas had ultimately recruited him back into the service of his kingdom. He has yet to feel regret or remorse for the things that he had done, instead he saw oppurtunity. That of the greater power he knew that he now possessed, and the ability to use it as he desired for revenge against those who had forced him into this servitude.

As the crypt dwellers stayed in the dark, now purely on their own free will. For they had no clue as to what to do, even with the freedom to decide their fate. Wayne felt new visions pass before his eyes. Almost like dreams for the awake due to their hazy complexion and echoing. The vision would come every so often and would be slightly different each time. It showed a beautiful Elven woman, one that Wayne was sure he had seen somewhere before, who was calling out to him, signaling a call for freedom and vengeance.

The vision happened seven times over a long period as Wayne felt more and more compelled to follow each time. His thoughts of it being a trick was dismissed as he could feel her suffering and passion each time she spoke. The last vision told him where he must go help her and that he must go at once. For the first time he used all his bones and rose up to his feet, all around him, nearly all the Necromancers rose with him. Wayne strode forward up the stairs ahead of all others. He raised his bone wand to the door and used a powerful spell to blow the door to splinters. Then walked out into the night to fight for his freedom.


	5. Chapter 5

The night air in Lordaeron was freezing at this time of year as Wayne and the other Necromancers walked out to welcome it. It quickly became apparent to them how utterly difficult it now was to walk or to move at all. Their bones became so fragile when they gained the realization they could flex them on their own. With the loosened grip of an overlord, their continuous driving force was loosened as well.

Wayne felt the new pull on his brain telling him the direction to follow. As he and the other Necromancers darted by rotting trees in haste to the signal. Along the way they could not help but notice other Scourge minions of all types converging with them on the same undefined path through the woods. Turning back to look behind him, now a passive habit it seemed, he noticed the Elf still running behind him. Wayne took a moment to examine the possibility that the Elf's mind was as unhindered as his, and to what he might be thinking.

At last their running came to a halt at the banks of a river. There floated the woman from Wayne's visions, along with many other spectral banshees, but it was particularly easy to spot her. Wayne was then able to recant her as being in the courtyard in Dalaran in what seemed like so long ago. Many more Abominations, among other Scourge units were crowding around and the Necromancers had to squeeze their way up to the front.

"I am pleased that so many of you came from heeding my call," said the banshee.

She rose slightly higher in the air as waves of dark energy flowed from her. She reached her hands high into the air and seemed within reach to grasp the moon with her slender fingers. The undead that had gathered all watched her with a gawking fascination.

"You can all feel it, can you not? The power of the Lich King is quickly fading, he cannot control us all. Now is the time, now is our chance to break free of his control!" said the banshee.

Though it seemed that she was talking to a vast audience, many of whom surely could not understand or comprehend the importance of what she was saying. Wayne nodded in acceptance of what she was implying, but many others gave no sign of understanding her. Surely they could feel it, they were able to heed her call and arrive here after all.

"You who have arrived this night, you are the chosen freedom fighters. You are the ones with the power to slaughter those who have wronged us so!" the banshee said.

All of the undead stirred at the sound and power of her words. A feeling of unity and belonging settled in Wayne's rotting guts as he and the other undead lifted their hands high and let out a fierce cry that echoed all across Lordaeron. As Wayne and the others let their defiance known, he took a look around and saw even more undead rushing to join the borders of the group.

"From now on we shall be known as the Forsaken!" screamed the banshee. "And I as your Banshee Queen, Dark Lady Sylvanas Windrunner! Join me, and I shall lead you on the path to freedom!" she finished in fervent ecstasy.

The cheering and appluase of the undead reached a fever pitch before all went silent, with the undead kneeling in service to their new Queen. Slowly, they all arose and stood as tall as they could with their twisted skeletal frames. They watched and waited for orders, they were prepared in that moment to follow her up the stairs of the Frozen Throne should she command it.

"Now my Forsaken, listen closely to my words. For now we must operate in secret, we do not have the strength yet to reveal ourselves. But in time, all of this world will be ours and we will have no slave driver to command us!" said the Banshee Queen.

"There is an important mission that must be accomplished this night, the first order of business for the Forsaken," said Sylvanas. "I will need no more than thirty of the finest amongst you for this," she concluded.

When none of the undead wavered or left, determined as they were to follow her on the mission, the Forsaken Queen let crack a slight smile. Though it was difficult to see it, and it faded quickly, Wayne was sure that he saw it. The Dark Lady then waved her hand to several banshees on her right side who swept through the undead to sense the strongest. The were endowed with the ability to sense the relative power of those who passed through their glare, with a soft touch, they chose the best who passed through the crowd to the feet of the Dark Lady. A hand was passed through Wayne, and despite the fact that he perhaps had no nervous system left, still gave his bones the chills. He walked forward, the Elf followed behind even though he had not been touched by the banshee, and for all her echoing sentiments to stop, the Elf would not halt unless Wayne would halt.

A powerful group was now gathered before Dark Lady Sylvanas, the rest of the Banshees returned to her side and signaled that they were satisfied with the selection.

"Now is the end of the meeting my Forsaken," said Sylvanas. "Until next I summon you, stay strong and stay secret, now depart."

As all the Forsaken that were not chosen slowly left through the woods, Sylvanas turned her eyes upon the thirty-one undead who awaited her orders.

"You there, Necromancer," said Sylvanas.

There stood eight Necromancers among the crowd, they all stared upwards towards her. One finger was pointed towards Wayne as her sign of which one she meant.

"Your servant was not chosen for this, you must order him to depart," Sylvanas said.

"Ah, yes My Lady," Wayne struggled to say, the words were so hard to form and speak out in a way that was understandable. "But you must understand My Lady, he is very headstrong and has yet to leave from me," Wayne finished.

"I am obliged to stay My Lady," said the Elf, in a loud proud tone.

Wayne turned quickly to see him speak for the first time in his deadened voice. Yet for all its dark sound, it was strangely angelic.

"I cannot abandon My Master on such a quest, please allow me to follow My Lady, as I once followed you," said the Elf.

The Dark Lady bowed her head slightly towards him.

"Very well, I will allow it," said Sylvanas. "Now then, we must go silently through the woods, the place we seek is not far from here, come quickly."

The group of newly christened Forsaken stepped lightly and fast through the woods. Wayne turned to ask the Elf following just one question.

"Why have you never spoken to me before?" Wayne asked.

"Because you never asked me anything," returned the Elf with the same deadpanned stare.

 

XxXxX

 

The pace of the Forsaken slowed as it became apparent that their target was near, and suprise would be key. Ahead of everyone else the figure of the Dark Lady and the other banshees raised a hand for all to stop. Their spectral bodies carried an illuminating glow that worked like a catalyst feeding off of the light of the moon. The Banshee Queen in particular shined majestically.

"Listen closely," said the Banshee Queen. "Across the swamp that lies ahead there sets a vaulted crypt. Inside the crypt lies my physical body, our mission is to retrieve it and kill all those inside who would dare try and stop us. Do not be foolhardly, many powerful Death Knights and Scourge beasts rest within, we must attack secretly and quickly. Do all of you understand?" asked Sylvanas.

"Yes My Queen," returned the Forsaken who had the ability to speak, all gave an inclined bow.

"Cross the swamp only after I have taken the perimeter guards, await my signal," said the Queen.

Sylvanas and all of the banshees went forward and glided across the murky swamp. The Forsaken stood back and watched the scene with wrapped anticipation, unable to reach their Queen should she come to harm. Only four guards were seen outside the doors, but many more could be lying in wait. Wayne was not yet able to discern the difference between a Death Knight and any ordinary Scourge drone, but tonight he was sure to learn the difference. For as powerful as the Dark Lady and her banshees may be, she needed the help of the best of the Forsaken.

Wayne watched with utmost attention as the other banshees spread out leaving Sylvanas alone to meet the four defenders. How she engaged them in conversation before lurching directly into one, three more banshees quickly falling from the sky into the other three. They all managed to possess their targets with only minimal resistance. With the other banshees circling the crypt, the possessed Scourge raised the swords up and beckoned the Forsaken forward.

Moving quickly, but also carefully, as the splashing water of the shallow swamp was sure to attract the attention of those inside. The Forsaken crowded around the entrance as the other banshees returned to confirm that there was no more targets outside. Wayne could now clearly see the difference of a Death Knight, their armor and weapons were far more enchanted with the emblems and power of death, it was the same as Arthas and all of his horsemen in Wayne's memory. The Death Knight that Sylvanas was within spoke,

"I will go in first, they will only open the way for one of their own. Prepare to storm the keep and be careful not to attack wildly, my body resides within," she said.

So much of her voice could still be detected within the fearsome shell of the Death Knight. All bowed in acknowledgement as the four possessed Knights strode forward and up the wide staircase. The Death Knight under Sylvanas's control began to bang on the door loudly, yelling for the aid of those inside against a massive incoming attack. The language that she spoke was different, yet slightly understandable to Wayne, it was a variant tongue that he heard spoken by the Lich. It was apparently understood as the door was quickly opened by those inside and the possessed Death Knights burst in, quickly followed by the elite Forsaken.

The defenders inside the crypt were badly prepared for such a suprise attack. Many were busy conducting rituals and were far away from their chosen weapons. The six Forsaken Abominations jumped in front of the four possessed Death Knights, trying to shield them from harm. Upon rushing inside, Wayne began to unleash sweeping volleys of arcane bolts. Which proved very effective in ripping apart all those who were hit, though due to the nature of the Scourge, it was often not a fatal hit. His Elven companion stood close by, his sword raised high should anything dare come close.

Within minutes it was all over, the Forsaken traversed the crypt quickly to silence anything that still clinged to life. Nine Forsaken soldiers lie motionless on the crypt floor, three were Abominations that tried to shield the Dark Lady. Two of the four possessed Death Knights were slain, but the banshees rose triumphantly from the corpses, seemingly unharmed. One Necromancer was destroyed and the rest were top notch skeletal soldiers.

The Death Knight that Sylvanas currently occupied stood near the center of the crypt. With the attention of two Abominations in tow, the arm of the Death Knight rose and had one finger pointing towards the far dark corner of the room. The two Abominations quickly made their way across the room and tossed aside many crates of armaments until finding what they were looking for. The Forsaken gathered around the center of the room as the two Abominations carefully brought an iron coffin to the feet of the Banshee Queen. Wayne could clearly see the coffin was covered with powerful runes meant to keep it from ever being opened again.

With a nod from Sylvanas, the Abominations placed a hook on the coffin's edge and attempted to pry it open. The creature strained and pulled with all of its force, but only succeeded in flipping the coffin onto its side. The Death Knight of Sylvanas bade the Abomination back so she could open it herself. She corrected the coffin's position and attempted to stab the Knight's runic blande into the side of the coffin's door for leverage, but the blade would not pierce into the metal. Only the tip of the sword would become dulled after repeated stabs. The Dark Lady was quickly loosing her patience.

At length she bellowed in rage and threw the sword across the room. She knew it had to be Arthas's doing, who else would order her coffin to be sealed so tightly? Several members of the Forsaken would volunteer to Sylvanas and attempt to open it, many using magic in their attempts and each one would fail. Wayne continued to stare at the runes that adorned the coffin, his mind was rapidly quickening back to the pace he knew when he was alive. Soon the solution dawned on him, these were not dark incantations, but light incantations, made by a Paladin. Therefore they could only be opened by the use of light magic.

"Dark Lady Sylvanas," Wayne choked out, still not accustomed to using his voice again.

Another Necromancer was currently weaving spells around the coffin, but having no effect. She turned to face Wayne, looking highly agitated. Wayne bowed low as she stared at him.

"I now recongize the seal of runes as being light in essence, perhaps created by a skilled Paladin," Wayne said.

The Banshee Queen took on an expression of even deeper agitation in the possessed Death Knight body. "Arthas," she seethed under her breath.

"I can attempt to open it My Lady, for it can only be opened by the work of the light. I had some skill with that school of magic in my former life, and could open it if the light has not completely abandoned me," Wayne continued.

The Dark Lady nodded as she began to hold out hope for him to succeed. Wayne moved past the others and sat on the top of the coffin, he would have to channel deep from his heart and must be able to concentrate. This time, the Dark Lady and the rest of the Forsaken watched him closely as his slowly spun his wand upwards, soon a funnel of yellow light began to act as a tornado. It continued to grow upwards and downwards from both ends of the wand until touching the coffin and ceiling. The runes engraved in the iron were slowly fading, Wayne seized the oppurtunity and slammed the wand down hard upon the surface of the coffin. The incantations broke with a familiar sound that Wayne had not heard in such a long time, looking down onto the coffin, he saw the iron soft enough that his hand left an imprint.

Wayne breathed deeply and shifted his stiff bones off of the coffin and onto his feet. Many of the Forsaken were visiably impressed, a few bowed to him. Even the Banshee Queen eyed him,

"What is your name Necromancer?" she asked.

"Wayne DeLovely at your service, My Queen," Wayne said and bowed.

"How lucky am I that you came," said the Dark Lady.

For the first time Wayne could feel proud to be in the service of someone that he could actually respect, and would actually respect him.

 

XxXxX

 

The two Abominations that had carried the coffin to the center of the room stood again on each side of it. With a single nod from the Death Knight that Sylvanas controlled, the top was peirced by their hooks on both sides and lifted up smoothly. The iron gave sway very easily as the Abominations moved the lid backwards and let it fall on the ground. The weight of the lid was enough to shake the floor with the vibration of its impact.

The chosen Forsaken in attendence were the first to witness the unveiling of the Banshee Queen's orginal form. The corpse of the Elven woman within was almost too beautiful to look at. But fascinated and spellbound by its splendour, the Forsaken stared at it. The body had not decomposed at all, the hair had only slightly darkened, not greyed. The skin had turned a shade of deathly blue and the clothes remained Elven in origin, though more frayed and haggered than the body.

Sylvanas walked forward a few steps towards the coffin, parting the room on either side. With a swift motion she unshealthed a dagger on the Death Knight's belt, and stabbed herself in the heart with it. As the body fell to the floor, her banshee form rose up. The real Death Knight had only a few confused seconds of life to cling to before he collapsed dead.

In a picturesque moment that will forever be within the annals of the history of the Forsaken. Slowly Sylvanas floated towards her body, savoring each moment, before completely encapsulating herself within. A few moments later, the body began to shake and stir, static lightning strikes of dark energy began to emanate from the Elven corpse. The Forsaken moved back slightly, not wishing to be hurt by the massive output of energy that was flying from and around her.

Then her eyes opened, bright red and full of malice. Her hands rose up to grip both sides of the coffin's edge as she pulled herself upwards. An aura of shadow completely surrounded her as she stood again on her two delicate feet. She flexed her long unused muscles and let out a powerful triumphant cry. All the Forsaken sunk to their knees as they bowed to the glory of their newfound Queen.

The Dark Lady began to talk, and like so many Forsaken around her, she found it difficult to use a voice that had been silent for so long. She made several hoarse gasps before she was able to carry her voice loud enough for all those around to hear.

"Thank you," the Dark Lady whispered as her eyes scanned the room, hovering for a moment on Wayne and his companion Elf.

"All of you here will become the first decorated members of the Forsaken," Sylvanas continued. "Now rise and be recognized."

All of the undead rose to their full height and began to chant slogans about the Forsaken that they were quickly making up. They cheered in a frenzy as Sylvanas looked on. When all became quiet again, the Dark Lady began to adjourn the mission.

"Our work tonight is done, for now we must depart and make no sign or mention of what has transpired here this night," said the Banshee Queen. "Is that understood?" she asked.

"Yes My Queen," all the Forsaken chanted back to her.

"Now depart from this place, you will be contacted when I have an order to give," said the Banshee Queen.

"But My Lady," said a Necromancer to whom Wayne had only seen tonight. "How shall we remain secret if there is this crypt full of slaughtered Death Knights and your body is missing?" he asked.

It was clear that this one still possessed a great deal of intelligence. But the Dark Lady was not angry with his questioning, instead she praised his awareness.

"Well thought Necromancer, the answer to that has already been set into action days ago," said the Banshee Queen. "Now leave this place quickly."

The Necromancer bowed again and turned to leave with the others. A noise made Wayne stop as he reached the swamp. Turning around he saw several Abominations carrying the bodies of Scarlet Crusaders into the crypt. Wayne also reasoned that is why he was never ordered to resurrect any of the dead. As he kept moving through the woods, the sounds of destruction within the crypt became louder and louder.

"Why do you follow me so? Why do you protect me?" Wayne suddenly asked the Elf that followed him.

"I am indebted to you for giving me new life, Master," said the Elf.

"Don't you think that you would be better off dead than living like this?" Wayne asked.

"Perhaps, but I can only experience one of those two options, and being this way does not seem so terrible," responded the Elf.

Wayne shrugged, he never thought of it in such terms before.

"Do you remember your name?" Wayne asked.

"Of course Master, my name is Nollis," the Elf said.

"Well Nollis," Wayne said, coming to a halt, Nollis also coming to a halt.

Wayne reached out his bony hand, "It's a pleasure to meet you finally," he said.

Nollis took his hand into his own, "The pleasure is mine my Master."


	6. Chapter 6

Days turned to weeks as the Forsaken bided their time in the withering land of Lordaeron. The plants and animals that still clung to life recongized the advent of fall was underway. Living humans began their preparations for the long freezing months. The days in all the lands in Azeroth began to grow shorter and darker.

Wayne and many other Forsaken came to re-define the meaning of boredom during this time. Having to fit in and behave as the mindless undead around them, not being able to talk or take action as they pleased was beginning to take its toll on their newfound nerves. Many would have contemplated yet another death were it not for their mission and loyalty to the Dark Lady. Their purpose was clear and they felt that their time to arise was rapidly approaching.

It was during these monotonous times that Wayne would steal away into the deep forest, always followed by Nollis, though at first he would have prefered him to stay. There he would be as close to solitude as he was able to get and do what he did best in his former life, prefect his skills. He quickly found out that his spells were more powerful now than they were previously. Arcane magic was found to conduct more easily through a channeler whose nerves could not feel the burning pain of the raw energy that was passed. The bone wand and books of spell also offered many more secrets that Wayne had yet realized.

Nollis also used the time wisely in training beside his master. The pair found a powerful bow in an old armory that was left abandoned near the capital. It was obviously a special weapon for someone as it was finely carved and enchanted for greater strength and accuracy. The several quivers of arrows that the pair also stole were spent and reused in long sessions of target practice. Between the two of them a great deal of noise was always made, but the slaves to the Scourge mass were far too dull and un-motivated to take any notice.

The noise did attract the attention of other Forsaken however. Their numbers in the long training sessions began to rise each day. It became a sort of makeshift meeting place, weapons training, duels, and long talks of who they were happened for those few hours everyday. A Necromancer would always be at hand should a sparring match become heated enough that a head was lost, and the problem was always easily fixed. Despite the fact that Wayne had started all of this in order to be alone (or alone as he could get), he was not bothered by the following. So many of the Forsaken now looked up to him, having been told the stories passed on by those that fought in the crypt. A bow or salute was commonplace as he would lead the expedition into the deep woods.

Every so often Wayne and Nollis would leave in the dead of night to search for Scarlet Crusaders. Not only because it was entertaining, but also for a flex and test of their skills. Usually they would stumble across a party that was hunting, or the hunters would stumble across them. The humans would attack the pair thinking they were easy targets, just two mindless undead wandering aimlessly and separate from the herd. But each time the pair proved far more formidable then the Crusaders would have ever imagined.

They would not kill them instantly if they could prevent it. The Crusaders would be injured but alive as Nollis would tie them to trees for use as target practice. Often Wayne would attempt his more advanced spells that he was still formulating to observe the effect. Their screams of help became a sweet symphony to the pair during their 'more advanced' practice sessions. The screams also brought along more members of the Scarlet Crusade, who were of course always welcome to the gathering. Eventually those they captured would not scream out for help, either because they knew who came would die, or no help would come for them at all. Their lives were not spent in vain, Wayne always resurrected their bodies, and an oath to the Forsaken and their Queen was always taken by the newly risen dead.

It was not until visions of Sylvanas in her banshee form began to pass before the eyes of all the Forsaken that Wayne and Nollis began to de-escalate their activities. She warned of the increased interference of the Dreadlords from the Burning Legion, and a possible usurpation of power for their interests. Then as the snows began to blanket the land, a vision came to inform them about the swift return of Arthas back to Lordaeron. The time of the Forsaken was approaching its dawn.

 

XxXxX

 

A dark morning showed its dawn over the snow covered ground of Lordaeron. The sounds of several horses stamping through the crisp snow were heard as Wayne and Nollis walked out of their crypt. Their eyes bore witness to the return of Arthas and his chosen Death Knights as they rushed past and into the capital city. Wayne was foolish enough to give a wide carrion smile as Arthas's eyes flashed onto him, but Arthas did not seem to notice how unusual that it must be for a Scourge minion to smile. The Forsaken achieved immense pleasure at the thought of how Arthas did not realize how short his time truly was. Not to mention how painful his death would be at their hands. No matter the cost, they were set on Arthas never leaving this land without having their vengeance.

The plan was already set and in motion by the instructions of the Dark Lady. Once nightfall came, the Forsaken would storm Arthas's chambers within the city. The gates would be locked tightly behind them to keep the Scourge at bay while they had their fun. Then it was believed that upon the death of Arthas, the rest of the undead would be liberated as the Forsaken was, and their ranks would become unlimited. The power of the Forsaken would surpass all, Azeroth would become theirs for the taking. All for the glory of the Banshee Queen!

But all plans have their unforeseen problems that can arise out of nowhere. For it was not long after Arthas rode into the city that new visions passed through the eyes and minds of the Forsaken. Sylvanas spoke of an offensive and blockade against the surviving humans within Lordaeron. She earnestly warned the Forsaken to follow and behave as the rest of the Scourge, not to stand out, not to be independent. It was very important that they all understood this, for they were not swayed as the rest when an order was given and thus could be easily spotted.

Shortly after the vision Arthas emerged from the city as the undead began to rally towards him. He rode down the pathways with the Lich and Sylvanas following behind, Sylvanas of course being in her banshee form. None of the Forsaken had seen her back within her own body since it had been reclaimed, and Arthas was meant to see her true self only upon his death. The undead followed the trio in one large mass as their numbers reached into the thousands. Then the Lich split away with a large force behind him, then Sylvanas. Arthas kept riding with great numbers of undead still following and flocking towards him. Nearly all of the Forsaken went with the division under the command of their Queen, though she gave no such order.

Within minutes they came upon a trail of humans who began to panic and flee upon seeing them. Their orders were clear and they must not disappoint. Sylvanas gave the signal and the Forsaken and Scourge alike stormed down upon them. Wayne was suprised to see a few of them stand their ground with weapons in hand, ready to fight against hundreds of the fierce undead. Though their courage was not rewarded, as their fate proved the same for all humans that attempted to escape that day. Villages from whence they came were soon raided and burned to the ground. Wayne was suprised for the second time as to how many humans actually lingered within the kingdom.

The darkness of night began to set in, and their orders seemed to be that they must remain at their posts and let none pass into the dense wilderness. Though no humans had tried to come this way for some time. Sylvanas was unable to plead for reason from Arthas, as reason was meant to be one of the many things for which she should have no understanding of. With a vision full of malice, the Dark Lady informed the Forsaken of the postponement of the plan. Wayne and the many others seethed with concealed rage at Arthas's lingeringly pointless venture. He and the rest of the Forsaken dug themselves deep within the snow and waited through the night for humans that would never come.

 

XxXxX

 

Sylvanas gave the order to return before dawn came. The visions she passed through the eyes of the Forsaken were in a slightly frenzied state. The Dark Lady relayed the information given to her by the three Dreadlords of the Burning Legion to whom she had just conferred with. They spoke of Arthas preparing his departure to Northrend, perhaps never to return. Time was of the essence for the Forsaken, as this could be their only chance. They still held the element of suprise in their favor.

The Banshee Queen was making her return from the meeting with the demons as she instructed them. She made a sign with her left hand over the left side of her face, two fingers up, two fingers down, thumb passing under the eye. Orders were given for all those loyal to the Forsaken to copy the sign. Then the order was given to slaughter all those who did not give the indication of their loyalty. Those being Scourge that were too weak willed to resist their controller, the failing Lich King.

All those within the unit that Wayne and Nollis were a part of began to brutally kill the ones who stood dull and blind to the world around them. In the other two units a similar scene was unfolding, but with not as much success due to them being under the watch of Death Knights. Wayne and the few Necromancers around him began to quickly raise them to new life as Forsaken, though the oath always had to be made or else death would set upon them again.

On top of the high mountain pass above the now fully Forsaken unit stood their Queen in her physical form. All heads turned to see her standing with the glow of the moon bathing her whole body in its pale light. A bow held out in her left hand as her eyes scanned the scene of the Forsaken mass, now a few hundred strong.

"Arthas is attempting his escape to the port!" The Dark Lady bellowed out instead of giving them visions. "We must cut off the pathways, split into units of fifty and follow my banshees!"

Then a vision came across the eyes of Wayne and two other select Forsaken in the crowd. They were instructed to follow their Queen personally. Everyone scrambled in the rush to fulfill the Banshee Queen's orders. Wayne, the other two chosen and Nollis all climbed the swirling mountain pass that led to their Queen. The Dark Lady knew that Nollis was to follow and let it be so, he could prove to be useful no matter how much his power lacked compared to the others. The four reached the top before her and bowed low.

"Come quickly, we must reach our position before it is too late," she said as she turned to break into a run.

Several Banshees and the four chosen Forsaken ran along behind her. The small entourage was limited to their size for speed and the kind of lightness that would not attract attention. With the other units meant to cut off every path that Arthas could take, thus leading him into their ambush, the ability to move in such a way was very crucial. No matter how slow Wayne was proven to be previously, he moved as the wind on the heels of his Queen this time. A newfound urgency fueled him and kept his brittle bones from tiring.

Within the hour they came to a halt on a hill above the pathway leading to the port. Dawn was close as the sky grew lighter by the minute.

"We cannot be too late," The Dark Lady growled to herself.

"I am confident we are not," said a banshee to her right.

Wayne turned to study the other two that were chosen. He remembered both being in the crypt on their first mission. One was a Necromancer, the one that The Dark Lady praised for his thinking. The other was one that the Forsaken refered to as Blightcaller, who was said to be a human ranger in his former life. Until now Wayne had not been given the opportunity to properly meet him.

Stepping forward Wayne put out his bony hand to Blightcaller, who in turn grasped it as they gave each other a solemn nod. He did the same greeting for the Necromancer as Nollis came forth to repeat his Master's motions. The four sat low behind their Queen, waiting for her signal. The Dark Lady constantly running her fingers through the feathers of the arrow on her bow, cursing him to appear quickly.

Several anxious minutes went by before the sounds of stamping hooves were heard resounding on the cobblestone walkway. All five peered up to see the rapid advance of Arthas on his horse, behind him rode three Death Knights.

"Prepare yourselves," the Banshee Queen said as she rose slightly with her arrow fully taunted and ready to fire.

Nollis copied her position to her left with an arrow ready to release. Wayne and the other two crouched low with wands and knives in hand. As soon as Arthas was in range the arrow from the Banshee Queen's bow flew out faster than lightning and into his left side under his ribcage. Arthas let out a gasp of pain and shock as his horse slowed down, the three Death Knights behind frantically looking about with their swords drawn. An arrow from Nollis flew down and through the head of a Death Knight, causing him to slump forward lifeless on his horse.

The paralyzing arrow worked perfectly on Arthas's body, but did nothing to stop his horse. The foul beast continued charging on as his rider screamed the command for its haste. Wayne fully stood and fired the spell of whirling blades, which hit the running horse and severed its body and head into several peices. Causing Arthas to fall off and slam onto the cobblestone road hard, his stiff body still in the riding position.

The two Death Knights now charged up the small hill towards their attackers. Two of the banshees flew towards them to possess them, after a few moments they succeeded in full possession. They stabbed each other in the neck as their spectral forms rose out, leaving them to die a quick death. Then the Banshee Queen sauntered towards Arthas who lay miserably on the ground, the other Forsaken following behind.

"It's time to pay butcher," The Dark Lady seethed.

Arthas struggled to move and called out loudly for assistance.

"You won't break free of the paralysis, I crafted that arrow just for you. You won't be able to move anything, but you will be able to feel everything," The Dark Lady said, her voice full of malice and inspiring terror in the deadened heart of Arthas.

"Just end it if you have what it takes, pathetic banshee," Arthas said, hoping to invoke her rage to strike quickly.

The Dark Lady raised a hand to keep steady the Forsaken behind her who stepped forward to avenge the insult to their Queen.

"You will receive what I have received, and nothing less!" said the Banshee Queen as she raised her sword and slashed Arthas's back. "You remember that, right Arthas!" she screamed over his screams.

Suddenly spells began to rain down on the small Forsaken group. They looked up to see the Lich standing on far hillside, untold numbers of Scourge stood behind him.

"Begone you traitorous scum!" hissed Kel'Thuzad.

Quickly Nollis raised his bow and shot an arrow that flew towards the Lich and hit it in the throat, instantly silencing the creature. Immediately the Scourge poured foward over the hills towards the small group.

"This is not over Arthas, I swear it!" The Dark Lady bellowed as they retreated.

The Scourge did not follow the group for long before pulling back. Their Queen raised a hand to bring them to a stop when the rest of the Scourge was far enough away. There she tried to compress her rage at her failure to kill Arthas, her chance gone due to that pesterous Lich. Only her banshee sisters attempted to calm her as the other Forsaken stood by, not wishing to have her rage thrown upon them.

"To the ends of Azeroth Arthas, to the ends of Azeroth!" The Dark Lady yelled loud enough for him to hear.


	7. Chapter 7

Minutes went by with the Banshee Queen and her small party of chosen Forsaken as they took a rest along the path. All felt dejected, all felt ready to expel their rage upon an enemy. Luckily for them, their soon to be adversaries were about to appear before them. The wind shifted as the fiery brimstone smell of the Dreadlords Tichondrius, Detheroc, and Varimathras teleported near them on the road.

"Ah I see you have failed in your quest to kill the Princeling," said Detheroc in a mocking tone.

"Because of no thanks to you!" The Dark Lady spat back. "If you would have taken care of the Lich then I would not have been interrupted!"

"He seemed to have evaded our legion's detection," Detheroc said, obviously not showing any concern. "Now that Arthas has left for good, these lan-"

"Don't be a fool Dreadlord," interrupted The Dark Lady. "These lands now belong to the Forsaken only, and I will never curry errands for demons."

The three Dreadlords began to laugh in a dark sinister way. Wayne, Nollis, Blightcaller and the nameless Necromancer each moved closer to their Queen, their weapons inching closer to their hands. Not only did they anticipate the fight with the Dreadlords, they desired it. Slaying the three here and now would avoid many costly and risky battles later on. But no move would be made without the order from their Queen. They simply gritted their teeth, or what teeth that they had left as they stood shoulder to shoulder, facing down the demons.

"Do not be so hasty in your decision Sylvanas. You are a great fool or your brain has simply rotted too much for you to honestly believe that your rabble of cast off Scourge misfits could dare stand against the might of the Burning Legion," Detheroc said, still laughing.

With unbelievable speed, The Dark Lady took hold of her bow, locked an arrow in the string and pulled it back before anyone had a chance to react. The tip of her arrow pointing directly between the eyes of Detheroc. The other four followed suit, holding their weapons out and at the ready. Every curse imaginable was about to escape from Wayne's lips as his bone wand pointed directly at Varimathras demonic heart.

"If you really believe that Dreadlord, then challenge us, here and now," The Dark Lady said dangerously.

The Dreadlords showed fear for only a split second. Their eyes then narrowed in a show of indignit anger, but they made no movements to provoke Sylvanas's fingers from slipping.

"You shall regret this Sylvanas," Detheroc said as the three teleported away.

Upon their vanishing everyone lowered their weapons in the still silence. The Dark Lady walked forward a few steps before turning back to look at her chosen ones.

"I promised the Forsaken a fight for freedom, that fight begins now! You three are the best I have under my command, and that is no easy place to arise to!" The Dark Lady said in a raised voice.

"Though you," The Dark Lady said, pointing at Nollis. "Are always welcome at Delovely's side. You have proven yourself to be most worthy."

Nollis bowed low at the recognition. "Thank you, My Queen."

"Now this war will have to be conducted carefully, there is a chance those fiendish Dreadlords could succeed," said The Banshee Queen.

"There is no chance of that My Lady," Blightcaller said boldly. "I will crush their hearts with my very hands as I stand before you."

His tone was maliciously brutal, and yet very sincere. The Dark Lady stared him down for a moment before continuing.

"It is not those demons that worry me!" The Dark Lady said, slightly annoyed. "It is the overwhelming number of soldiers they can muster, perfectly obedient and mindless, no different then the Scourge. We will have to use strategy and tactics if the Forsaken is to endure."

"What are your orders My Lady," Wayne asked as they all went down on one knee.

"Simple," said The Banshee Queen. "We wait for them to come to us."

XxXxX

By noon the Forsaken had fully regrouped and fortified a base on a steep snowy hilltop. The defensive power was very strong and they were able to survey the surrounding area for a vast distance. Rows of interlocking trenches were dug in the snow by the Abominations as a few hundred of the Forsaken dug themselves in.

The brilliance of the Banshee Queen's tactics was not in their defensive preparations. Any simple commander could fortify a position, but the Dark Lady intended on using every plan in the big book of warfare. She used the position as a magnet to pull the Dreadlord's forces into a meatgrinder while several scouting parties would use hit and run tactics on those that travel the roads. But with true skill befitting the Forsaken Queen, she yet again formed two separate elite groups to flank their main forces and deliver a coordinated pincer attack on the Dreadlords themselves. Of course, once all of the demons forces had been obliterated on their futile assault.

The Dark Lady was confident that they would strike against her soon. They were as blind to the true strength of the Banshee Queen, and the Forsaken as a whole, as they were about the abysmal defeat of the Burning Legion. It was evident that they had no clue about the superiority of the Forsaken over the mindless undead. Their ability to think and their devotion to their cause and Queen proved far greater then just a mindless slave blindly following orders. No matter how ill-equipped or untrained any given soldier on that hilltop would be, they would fight, and fight fiercely.

On the very top stood the Banshee Queen, giving orders. Soon her sister banshees would return with the information she would need to make her move. Wayne and Nollis helped in the preparations, though they knew they would not be fighting on the hill. Everything possible was being used for defense, from pit traps to barricades. Several Abominations busied themselves felling nearby trees to shore up their lines, and in case of emergency, could be rolled down the hill onto the attackers.

All sound made by the Forsaken sharply stilled upon hearing massive quaking noises in the distance. Undead units were being put into formation and were not far away now. Smoke was seen rising in the nearby distance where a small town of abandoned homes still stood. Visions came through Wayne's eyes from the Dark Lady of her strategy, he was to once again join a group that followed her specifically. Wayne and Nollis followed the source of her signal until they kneeled at her feet. More Forsaken quickly beginning to arrive at his side.

The Banshee Queen stood there waiting, she wore nearly the same clothes that were upon her body as it resided within the coffin. Yet no amount of ruined Elven clothing could detract from her beauty as Wayne looked upon her. After a few moments, when it seemed that all the Forsaken that she had called for now kneeled before her, she began to speak.

"We will form into two separate groups of ten each. My group will arc and flank the Dreadlords from the east, the other group, the west. Our priority is stealth and secrecy, I anticipate them to be lightly defended and to be taken by surprise. Blightcaller!" said the Banshee Queen.

"Yes My Lady!" Blightcaller said loudly.

"You will lead the group that assails from the west. Attract no attention and do not lead your attack unless my order is given, do you understand?" said the Dark Lady.

"Yes My Lady," Blightcaller faithfully said again.

Directly ahead the banshees began to return and flew in a rush towards Sylvanas. After a few seconds of hurried whispering in the ear of the Dark Lady, she gave her orders.

"Quickly now, follow my banshees towards our target," said the Dark Lady.

The group split in two and rushed in opposite directions down the hill. As soon as the Dark Lady began to run she gave visions to the rest of the Forsaken to prepare for battle, the enemy was nearly upon them. No retreat, no surrender, no mercy, that was the mantra she gave the Forsaken on the hill. That was what was expected of the Queen's soldiers.

Within minutes the path that Wayne traveled on the heels of the Dark Lady became increasingly clotted with trees and bushy undergrowth. The addition of snow made it all the more difficult to move quickly and silently. Yet the banshee in front that led the way could not be perturbed as she hovered above and through it all. Great clashing sounds were soon heard in the distance as their base came under attack. But Wayne would have no fear of defeat, victory belonged to the cause of the Forsaken, forever and always.

The run slowed as the pace of the guiding banshee slowed. Until at last she came to a halt near the clearing of the small burning town.

"There My Lady," whispered the banshee into the ear of the Dark Lady.

All moved forward slowly to observe the scene. There in the flickering light of the burning houses stood a solitary Dreadlord. Around him stood only a few undead who could not even be assumed as protection for the demon. Instead of being joyous at the easy target, the Dark Lady was enraged.

"Ohh what arrogance!" seethed the Dark Lady. "They honestly believed that was enough to finish me!"

"Let their arrogance be their undoing, My Lady," said the leading banshee.

The Banshee Queen concentrated on sending her order to Blightcaller, even though it would be impossible to know where he was or if he was ready to attack. But with the foolish Dreadlord standing there so defenseless, reinforcements would not be necessary. In a quick movement she pulled an arrow from her quiver and set it in place in the middle of her bow.

"DeLovely," whispered the Banshee Queen.

"Yes My Lady," Wayne said softly moving forward a few steps.

"Cast a field of anti magic to prevent the demon from teleporting," said the Banshee Queen.

"Yes of course, My Lady," Wayne said with his wand pointed outwards and beginning to wordlessly chant the incantation.

"Now!" said the Dark Lady loudly as she jumped forward through the trees and shot her arrow.

The Dreadlord Varimathras only had time to turn his head to see the Forsaken Queen before her arrow plunged deep into the middle of his stomach. He feel backwards onto the ground and used his left hand to steady himself from laying flat and the other hand held onto the arrow wound.

"Hold your fire!" the Banshee Queen said loudly as they rushed towards him.

Blightcaller and his group emerged from the flaming houses behind the Dreadlord. Varimathras tried desperately to teleport, but he could not overcome Wayne's barrier. He could not even defend himself against the approaching Forsaken, as all of his power was magic based. He could only move his right hand from his wound to his mouth as he coughed up his blood and tried to stifle his screams. All of the non-Forsaken that moved around the area were quickly slaughtered as they moved closer to stand around the Dreadlord in a tight circle.

"You're a complete fool to challenge me Varimathras!" said the Dark Lady in a dangerous tone.

"It was never my aim to challenge you Sylvanas," choked Varimathras.

"And yet here you are," the Dark Lady returned.

"Do not send me to my death Sylvanas, I can be of great assistance to you," Varimathras said.

"Only a fool would trust a demon," the Dark Lady retorted.

"Shall I remove his heart now My Lady?" Blightcaller said with a long knife in hand.

"No Blightcaller! I'm listening Dreadlord," said the Dark Lady.

"I can lead you to Detheroc and Tichondrius. I can reveal to you their secrets. I can swear loyalty to you only!" Varimathras bellowed, blood coming out of his mouth more quickly now.

"You're pathetic Varimathras, you would betray your kin only to live a day longer," said the Dark Lady.

Blightcaller held his knife high, waiting for the word to take out the Dreadlord's heart.

"But, I know I can find use for you. Be warned demon, you are on a short leash," the Banshee Queen said as she motioned to Wayne.

Varimathras gave his oath to the Forsaken at the feet of the Queen, he was moving closer to death by the moment. Wayne stood over the Dreadlord and dispelled his barrier, then as soon as his oath was complete, he jerked out the arrow from the demon's stomach. Varimathras roared in pain as blood drained out of his body. But the power of light healing magic would only have the demon feel pain for a few more seconds. Wayne held his bone wand in front of the wound and sent bright yellow waves of light from the wand's tip to heal his body and stop his pain. Wayne never wavered in his faith that his Queen was making the right choice in saving the Dreadlord, no matter how much he would have preferred Blightcaller to just have his heart.

 

XxXxX

 

The night blanketed the land when all of the Forsaken gathered on top of their hilltop fortification. A council was assembled of the best, brightest and most powerful to contemplate their next move. The omnipotence of the Dark Lady was not questioned by the chosen council. In truth the Forsaken revered her leadership in her ability to make plans and take advice from her people. If she was not to do so, then she would become a slave driver that was hardly different than Arthas or his Lich King.

Upon returning with the allied Dreadlord in tow, the Forsaken on the hill were in jubilant celebration of their total victory. The vagabond Scourge units that Varimathras had brought to conquer them lay slaughtered in the snow with not a single survivor. Wayne and the other Necromancers were quickly at work resurrecting them and procuring oaths of loyalty. The Forsaken continued to grow in strength and size, now they were a true force to be reckoned with.

A large tattered cloth tent was assembled on the very top of the hill for the council to make their plans. The tent was only necessary to prevent the fierce icy wind from blowing away their maps and important papers. Firelight was not used as the undead did not need the light or the heat. The night was very young as the council began their discussion on their first strategic meeting.

"That is everything I know," finished the Dreadlord Varimathras.

The more than fifteen Forsaken in attendance continued staring at the demon even after his lengthy interrogation. The Dreadlord was by far the largest figure in the tent with his horns pressing against the fabric ceiling. Varimathras had by now fully recuperated his powers and could easily escape from the Forsaken. Yet he stayed among them, smart enough it seemed to know which was obviously the winning side. The carefully aimed questions that the Dark Lady asked him were always answered quickly and obediently.   
Everyone stood quietly and evaluated the startling information just given.

"We must strike soon," said the Banshee Queen. "Before they have a chance to further prepare and before they realize one of their own has betrayed them."

"I agree My Lady. Look, the night itself has come to aid us," said a feminine voice as she pointed through the parting of the tent.

In the short time that the council listened to the Dreadlords interrogation, heavy curtains of fog descended upon the land. The bright glare of the moon only added to the impossibility of seeing more then a few feet in front of you. The members of the council stared out into the fog, assured in the prospect that even the elements had come to aid in their cause.

"But My Lady," said another voice. "Even with the element of surprise the enemy still drastically outnumbers us. And with the massive human and undead and even demon army that is amassed within the most impregnable fortress in Lordaeron..." His voice sputtered off in ramblings, at last he finished with, "It would be suicide."

"It is not going to be easy," spat the Dark Lady at her disheartened servant.

"But it is possible," said Wayne as all eyes turned back onto him. "I spent many years there and remember the layout of that fortress. The castle has never been breached and is not able to survive if breached. If we can get inside the walls and divide their forces, then the odds will tilt in our favor."

"Yes, that is true," piped up another voice.

"Let us not forget that once the Dreadlord is dead that all the forces under his control will be freed," said someone else.

The Dark Lady lifted her hand out to silence everyone.

"Let us also not forget that Detheroc is not the only one that can amass an army to do his bidding," said the Dark Lady as she turned and walked outside.

The council followed their Queen out into the mist. The Forsaken soldiers were parted by a large margin and in the middle stood untold numbers of massive ogres, knolls and murlocs. The first few in front of each group stepped forward and bowed to the Dark Lady. Each were much larger then those behind them and were much more ornate in their appearance.

"We have returned with your army My Lady," the banshees all said in unison in the various hoarse tones of their possessed subjects.

Even Varimathras was shakingly impressed with the Dark Lady's abilities. She now proved to be far more powerful than he could have ever anticipated.

"Are you ready for a war!" bellowed the Banshee Queen on the misty snow covered hilltop.

The Forsaken raised their weapons high, and shouted in frenzy.

"To war!"


	8. Chapter 8

The bulk of the Forsaken army stealthily moved through the mist towards Detheroc's stronghold. The Dark Lady led the formation from the center, her banshee sisters were spread out to her left and right. This kept the army in line and order as they moved over the dense, snowy terrain. The fog was so thick that everyone was nearly blind and could only follow on the heels of the one directly in front of them. Wayne and Nollis kept close to the Dark Lady, the elite Forsaken remained in the center, acting as a spearhead.

Detheroc reinforced the infamous stronghold of Thelceain with two separate army groups. His own force of undead Scourge and minor demons, and an enslaved army of humans that were once part of the resistance. Each army held their post in an equal sized half of the stronghold, and acted as if they were oblivious of each other. Their size and strength were nearly equal, as well as the castle fortifications they controlled.

The final battle plan was one fitting of the Banshee Queen's brilliance. Detheroc's armies dividedness would show to be the greatest weakness to the Dreadlord's force. With her leading the Forsaken, they planned on possessing the human sentries and sneaking into the human sector as they slept. Then cutting through as many as they could before an alarm was raised. Then the combined force of ogres, knolls and murlocs that were 'persuaded' into service for the Dark Lady would attack from the other side of the stronghold. Facing heavy resistance from the undead on the walls.

Such a direct attack against the walls of the undead sector was truly suicidal, and that was the greater plan of the Dark Lady. Having so many of her enemies cut each other down was one of her greatest talents. Though more than just mass death, it was a distraction meant to keep Detheroc's undead from contricting too tightly on the Forsaken. Then the Dark Lady's forces would smash into the Dreadlord's forces from the rear when he is most vulnerable.

All units were in position on both sides of the stronghold as the early morning hours wavered past. The burning torches at the castle gate and along the wall did little in the way of improving the defender's line of sight. Heavily armored soldiers patrolled along the roads, carrying torches. Banshees sneaked upon them from behind and silently possessed them. Then continued on their patrol towards the stronghold as more banshees appeared to control the gate guards and opened the heavy steel doorway wide.

The Forsaken that were lying low in wait were now commanded forward, slowly and silently as possible. Many more banshees stalked the fortified walls, taking possession of any that were awake and on watch. The Dark Lady was the first to pass through the gateway as the possessed human soldiers stood and bowed low to her.

Across the grounds of the stronghold were tattered tents, though many humans slept on the ground, in the mud. The visibility was alot clearer once they made it inside. All were clearly informed on the battle plan, the Forsaken spread out across the castle grounds. They progressed like a swarm of locusts in green fields, silently extinguishing all the life that they saw. The few skilled archers walked among the rest, shooting anyone that happened to be awake and moving about. Wayne moved about the encampment slyly, cutting throats with his long dagger.

A suprising amount of success was achieved before the alarm was inevitably raised. The grounds were already soaked in human blood with more than half of them slaughtered in their sleep. With the loud tolling of bells going off, along with shouts for a call to arms. The Forsaken pressed onward with vigor, casting aside the need to be silent. The Dark Lady quickly passed the vision to her banshees on the other side to begin their attack.

The sounds of the humans rushing into the fray was soon eclipsed by the loud roar of battle on the other side of the stronghold. Forsaken Abominations and soldiers went toe to toe with the humans and quickly slashed through their ranks. Wayne and Nollis stood side by side during the mayhem, firing death spells and arrows onto whatever life they saw. They turned to the right and saw Blightcaller leading a squad along the wall. He screamed in ecstasy as he hacked through cavalrymen with a long elegant axe. The Banshee Queen stood squarely in the center of the keep, firing her death enchanted arrows through the heads of the foolish corrupted humans.

Before much longer the vision came for many of the Forsaken to follow their Queen into the undead sector to kill Detheroc. More than half of the Forsaken quickly flocked to the Dark Lady's side as she moved forward. The rest stayed behind to finish off what was left of the humans. Varimathras was also ordered to stay behind and help clean up the mess. The gateways leading to the other side were quickly opened with the help of her banshees, and soon they were walking into a whole new battlefield.

Suprisingly a few murlocs were actually inside the keep, though they laid dead on the ground, how they made it over the walls is a mystery. Now nearly all of Detheroc's undead stood on the walls, firing everything they could onto the Dark Lady's auxiliary armies. To their credit, it seemed as if they were sending back an equal amount of return fire.

The Forsaken spread out in search of Detheroc, once his head was severed then this battle would be won. They easily cut through the undead that wandered around, many were hardily anything more than a zombie. It was a travesty that the Dreadlords believed they could control these lands when they could not even control their lowest groups of soliders.  
Many grew agitated in the belief that the Dreadlord had long since fled the battle. But soon he was discovered on the far side of the grounds, frantically summoning demons to aid him. Large groups of felhounds appeared from another dimension and were set upon the Forsaken. The speed and ferocity of the beasts overwhelmed many of the Forsaken as they jumped upon them with full force, rending their dead flesh like a rabid animal. Wayne, Nollis and a few others charged the Dreadlord while the rest were still far away.

Nollis made the first contact as his arrow hit the demon high on his chest. He staggered backwards a step but appeared otherwise uneffected. Detheroc held out his hands and chanted loudly in his deep voice. In each hand a large blunt hammer appeared, easily the size of a man. Then the demon began to mercilessly throw them upon the charging Forsaken. Every hit would decimate the Forsaken soldier to bones, and just as quickly as the hammer was thrown, another would appear in the Dreadlord's hands. The rest of the arrows that Nollis fired did not make it through his raised outer shields.

Wayne was in the midst of casting a powerful spell when a hammer came hurtling directly at him. Nollis moved quickly to pull Wayne out of the way, but was not fast enough. The hammer hit Wayne's right leg slightly above his knee and they both were sent flying backwards. Slamming on the ground hard, Nollis was quick to his feet to help his master up, but Wayne couldn't so easily stand. His leg was too badly mangled for him to walk. For the first time in what seemed like an eternity, Wayne felt tremendous pain. The Dark Lady and the rest of the Forsaken were now running towards the Dreadlord from the west, ready to finish the task.

"This isn't over," Wayne rasped. "Help prop me up."

Nollis lifted his master into a standing position and held his waist from behind to keep him from falling. Wayne concentrated and held out his left hand towards the Dreadlord. With all of his magical might be brought the demon flying towards him, much the same way as he did that foolhardy Elven mage.

Wayne flexed his left hand to the fullest extent, the demon bellowed in pain as all his bones stretched out in all directions. Then Wayne pulled his fingertips back tightly and the Dreadlord's chest exploded with his ribcage bones pointing outwards. Detheroc had now only a few moments of life left, yet out of cruelty, Wayne took hold of his rib bones in each hand and stabbed them into his still beating heart. His cries of pain were quick as Wayne released him and the Dreadlord's body hit the ground dead.

 

XxXxX

 

A large circle soon formed around the Dreadlord's mutilated corpse. The demon's black blood forming a continuously larger pool that wetted the feet of the Forsaken. Wayne could barely stand, even with Nollis holding onto his waist. And with the Dark Lady standing so close, he dared not show disrespect out of weakness.

"That was impressive DeLovely," said the Dark Lady. "I have never before seen bone magic used so effectively."

"Thank you My Lady," Wayne said as he managed to bow forward slightly. "I believe it was a gift from the Lich King. I had never been able to master the art in my former life."

"How long until you recover?" said the Dark Lady, looking down at his mangled and fractured leg.

"Soon My Lady, it is nothing that I cannot mend," Wayne said.

The Banshee Queen gave her last reverences before turning away to address other matters. Other Forsaken continued to stare at Wayne in a somewhat zombie-like fascination. Nodding towards Nollis, Wayne was gently lowered to the ground, his rotted legs laid flat and streched out before him. Instantly he was relieved to have pressure off of his leg as he tried to work the right spells to heal and strengthen his long dead bones.

Meanwhile the battlefield had turned nearly silent. Detheroc's undead force had stopped fighting completely and nearly all stood about on the ramparts uselessly. Having recieved the signal from Sylvanas, the banshee led armies outside the wall ceased their attack. Forsaken gathered around her on the stone walkways, teeming with feelings of victory.

With the Banshee Queen's plan perfectly executed, she lifted an enchanted arrow and shot it high in the air. The arrow ignited and showered sparks of all colors across the sky. The Forsaken lifted their hands high in jubilant celebration. Shouts of victory and the slogans of the Forsaken were deafening as they rallied together, some jumping and dancing.  
Varimathras soon appeared coming in through the gateway from the human sector of the stronghold. He was heavily stained in blood as he bowed before the Dark Lady. She turned towards him aimbly and listened to his report.

"All the humans have been eradicated, My Lady," said Varimathras in his deep voice.

"What of their commander?" the Banshee Queen questioned.

Varimathras sighed and moved slightly to the side to reveal Blightcaller who stood a few feet behind the demon. Around Blightcaller's neck hung the head of the commander, around the severed head a golden helment was still on. Though areas on the right side and forehead were heavily dented from repeated blunt strikes, it was clear that it belonged to the commander. He lifted the head up slightly to allow the Dark Lady a better view before letting it go, the necklace ornament rolling and swaying against his chest. Everyone revered Blightcaller for his great combat skills, but his level of brutality shocked even some of the Forsaken.

Wayne still sat on the ground working spells on his leg. He was growing frustrated for none would seem to work effectively enough. On top of everything else, the corpse of the Dreadlord was beginning to smell awful, even by undead standards.

At last he worked a spell combination that would allow him to stand and walk around without assistance. Though he walked with an obvious limp, and the pain still persisted through the steps. Wayne came to a halt and searched around with his eyes for anything that could be used as a walking stick. Anything that would allow him to walk easier and keep pressure off his damanged leg.

Wayne's eyes floated over Detheroc's body, and instantly a grin came to his face. He found the perfect walking stick that would humble even Blightcaller. He attracted the attention of an Abomination and ordered it to flip the demon's body over and rip out the spinal cord. The creature's massive hand gripped at the base of the neck and pulled back hard. Seconds later the Abomination presented Wayne with a five foot long bloodstained demonic spine.

The Abomination was thanked greatly for its help as Wayne sat down to begin enchanting his new staff. Within the very bones of the Dreadlord flowed powerful fel magics, types that Wayne had never before used. He sat diligently and worked on filling the staff with powers of death and arcane energy. This would be the first staff that Wayne had ever used, he found them to be too bulky and thus impossible to conceal. Never before had he needed one just to walk smoothly either.

Rising to his feet, Wayne tested its effectiveness as both a walking stick and a magical conductor. In both cases he was satisfied, the jagged angles of the bony spine felt natural in his hands, something only a true Necromancer would identify with. Bringing the staff up with Wayne's full height, it nearly reached his shoulder as he leaned on it heavily.

On through to the early morning hours the Forsaken remained hard at work. Wayne and all other Necromancers worked on raising the dead. Forsaken, Scourge and Humans alike were brought back and oaths were procured. Other members of the Forsaken raided the armory under orders from the Dark Lady to become better equipped. 'Glory to the Banshee Queen' was written in blood across the gateways at all entrances to warn off any enemies.

By noon the skies became overcast and snow began falling again. The council was again summoned by the Dark Lady into the interior castle walls. Forsaken soldiers transversed the ramparts, their destiny coming closer to fruition with each passing second.

 

XxXxX

 

Wayne found the winding staircase to the top floor of the keep difficult to climb under the circumstances. He leaned heavily on his staff and Nollis was close by to steady him should he waver. Shame began to slowly fill him, never before was he resigned to accept help for something so simple. Never before was someone there to help him every step of the way either.

The interior of the castle brought back old memories in Wayne's mind. Memories of being nothing more than a token for the royalty of Lordaeron. Whether he was sent into the fray for diplomacy or full blown war, it was always for the interests and greed of the royal family. The kingdom was only prosperous due to its forceful use of an army and the frightening negotiation tactics against other, more weaker kingdoms. Passing upwards on the stairs, Wayne felt the urge to rip down all the symbols of Lordaeron and grind what was left of the kingdom to dust.

They reached the top floor earlier than the rest. More than half the council was in attendence, they were scattered about the room in different size groups, talking in low voices. Sylvanas and her banshees were busy ripping through desks and various scrolls, searching for any precious information that would help. Wayne limped across the room, Nollis still close by for support.

"That was terrific work with the Dreadlord," a voice said.

Wayne turned to his left to see a familiar Necromancer walking towards him. He was always at council meetings, he was even there on the day they ambushed Arthas as he tried to escape. The Necromancer held out his rotting hand earnestly, Wayne extended his own and took hold.

"I am known as Faranell, of course there is no need to ask for your name. Your reputation amongst the Forsaken is considerable," Faranell said.

"I remember your name," Wayne said brightly. "You were a well known alchemist in your previous life, were you not?"

"Ah yes, it is nice to recollect your own reputation as well. Though it seems like several lifetimes since I have been within a laboratory," said Faranell.

After introducing Nollis, the two were wrapped in discussion until the meeting was called to order. All the Forsaken in attendence, including Varimathras, stood around the large wooden table in the center of the room. The Banshee Queen began by addressing their victory over Detheroc's forces and the taking of the most powerful stronghold in the kingdom. Even giving Wayne special regardfulness before the council on his slaying of Detheroc. Blightcaller met Wayne's eyes from across the table and he nodded slightly with a bit of a smile. The head of the human commander still hung around his neck.

"Now then, current strength of our forces?" asked the Dark Lady to nobody in particular.

"Over two and a half thousand strong, My Lady," said one of the Forsaken.

"Very well, that is enough to ensure that Tichondrius is no threat to us. I am sure the demon will not leave the safety of the capital city walls anytime soon. Is the present that I have ordered for Tichondrius on its way?" asked the Dark Lady.

"Yes My Lady, in the hands of Aleric I am sure the gift will be delievered promptly," answered another Forsaken.

"Our next move is clear, we must take the capital city and finish off the last Dreadlord to claim our supremacy over these lands. The attack must happen soon, before Tichondrius has a chance to increase his defenses," said the Dark Lady.

"My Lady," said another. "You said yourself that the Dreadlord is of no threat to us. Why do we not remain here and bide our time to better train the army?"

"Our forces are already motivated and trained enough to accomplish this task. Any further preparation would only help the Dreadlord," the Dark Lady said.

Maps on the table top were used as a plan of attack against the capital. Several members of the council were instrumental in pointing out weak areas on the castle that could be exploited. The meeting was adjourned little more than an hour later. As soon as the cover of nightfall came, the march would begin.

After an exhausting descent down the staircase, Wayne and Nollis walked out into the snowy courtyards. There Forsaken were being drilled as cohesive groups. Archers were at work with targets. Infantry units were practicing with newfound heavy shields and spears.

During his walk he came across the council member who answered the Dark Lady's question about the gift for Tichondrius. Wayne asked him what it was out of curiosity.

"Oh that," he said. "It is the head of Detheroc with a small note attached...Blightcaller's idea."

Soon after Wayne was approached by a few Necromancers as he sat on a courtyard bench. They pleaded sincerely for his assistance in the stables. Agreeing, he limped across to the other side of the stronghold. Several horses were swaying around like overly animated puppets. The formulas that the Necromancers were using could not fully substain the creature to have independent life. Wayne stepped forward with his wand, and a few twinks of the various spells later, a horse stood upright with its will completely broken. He taught the technique to the others before departing.

The hours ticked down and the sky finally grew dimmer. A vision passed through the eyes of the Forsaken to prepare to march. The final march to proclaim this land for their own.

"Are you ready to go back into combat master?" Nollis asked.

"Well, if the Dreadlord shatters my other leg. Then you will be the one carrying me from now on," Wayne said, suprisingly lighthearted.

"I would not count on you getting close DeLovely," Blightcaller said as he walked past. "I am 0 for 2 and won't walk away from this without slaying a Dreadlord of my own!"


End file.
